Two young men are sitting down at a table in the shade somewhere in the corner of a bustling plaza. One of whom was tall and muscular, one of whom was short and scrawny.
The tall one began, “You know, I don’t think you ever call me by name.”
“Hello to you too; the hell kind of a way is that to start a conversation anyways?”
“My apologies, I wasn’t trying to be confrontational, but, neither of us ever seem to call each other by name. Except unless we’re talking to someone else. Perhaps that’s normal, though, and friends simply don’t use each other names when they’re alone. There’s not exactly a need for disambiguation in such a case after all.”
They sat there in silence for a moment.
“Perhaps not. Names are a cubersome thing in this country. I suppose we only really encounter them in official capacities and in fiction as a matter of convenience.”
“Ah, I suppose you’re right.”
During this exchange, a handsome man in a suit with a caprine appearance had been staring at them with an incredibly smug and satisfied expression.
“And what the fuck do you think you’re looking at, you goat-eyed bastard? You sneer at us and torment us with your snide remarks every week!”
“And yet you two keep coming back here every week! Besides, how could you pretend as if you weren’t my favourite customers? If I didn’t have the pleasure of listening to you lovebirds chirping and tweeting, why I might as well close up shop!”
“What did you call us you—”
“Come on now, before you lash out at me, take a moment to appreciate how the little one is beaming with pride”
The tall man looked at the short man, and sure enough his face was full of delight (with a tinge of embarrassment). This was not a new phenomenon and has been a weekly occurrance for some time now, but the tall man had never taken it to heart.